


Make My Life A Mess

by Catchclaw



Series: Stray No More [3]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alpha/Omega, F/M, Infidelity, Knotting, M/M, Mpreg is possible in this world
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-26
Updated: 2012-10-26
Packaged: 2017-11-17 02:18:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/546556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During week two of the Jensen-not-talking tour, Jared lets his body get turned around by Gen while his brain's still twisted, still swimming in Jen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make My Life A Mess

You spend a lot of time thinking.

It's sorta unusual for you. Not having thoughts, obviously, but you're a lot more comfortable with action, with derping around on set and singing really loud and off-key just to watch the mike guys wince and talking to Jen, listening to him, watching his hands while he speaks, learning the gestures that mean _good job_ and _here have my french fries_ and _you should read some Derrida, kid. It'd do you some good_.

But since you're not talking, since he's not speaking to you this week, again, you've got time to take a tour of your own head, which, you're discovering, Jen has kinda redecorated.

His laugh. His eyes. The turn of his lips against your cheek. The way smiles when he's sleeping. The weight of his hand against your hip.

He's hung all of that in the gallery behind your eyes and you can never turn away.

During week two of the Jen-not-talking tour, you zone out over Twizzlers in your trailer in the lull after lunch, get turned around as your tongue does circles over one after the other until you realize that you've boxed yourself in, that you've folded yourself into a corner of the couch.

The one that's farthest away from Gen.

Oh. Crap.

Gen's here.

And she's pointedly not asking for your attention. Her legs are up in your lap, yeah, and she keeps reaching over to tug at your hair, sure, but she's ignoring you, too.

Isn't she?

You come all the way back from your daydream, from tracing the goddamn licorice over your bottom lip and in like it was Jensen's cock--which you've never tasted, never balanced in your mouth like this, but in your mind you can see his face above you, feel his hand on the back of your neck, his nails over your skin, hear him hissing low and satisfied: _yeah, jay. like that. just like_ \--your head falling forward, following his lead: _jay. baby. take it all for me. you will, won't you? you want it, don't you, sweetheart_?

Ok, maybe not all the way back.

Part of you is still out there, still flat and happy on that goddamn creaky bed, shoving your hips up to meet his, watching his eyes flicker and burn as you come all over his fist, as he leans into you and fucks you like there's nothing else in the world, no one else, that you are everything he's ever wanted and now he has you and damn if he'll ever let you go.

But he did.

He did.

And here you are in your trailer, your girlfriend climbing into your lap, thinking that you smell this way for her, that you're hard under her hand, her cunt, for her, and it's easier than telling her the truth, isn't it? Especially after she forgave you, took you back something fierce and fucked you within an inch of your life, maybe, but she still forgave. Said she understood, that things had been crazy and of course you'd just forgotten and she's glad Jen was there, that it wasn't some knothead in a bar who'd done it but Jen, Jen who brought you home safe and untied, satisfied enough not to drown but still aching, still begging, still open and slick for her fingers, her tongue.

"Jen's a good friend," she'd said, once she'd come down from her alpha high, once she'd marked you up but good--not permanent, not yet, but loud enough and hard enough to make any other alpha think twice.

"He took care of you," she'd said, flicking her tongue over your ear like she's doing now, but now she's moaning, too, that noise that comes from way down deep, the one she only makes when she's riding you, like she is now, using you to get off as fast as she can, locking her knees into your hips, driving you both back into the cushions as you fuck, because yeah, you are participating here. You're not an innocent bystander, no.

You may not want her knot, not now, but your dick is more than happy to be inside her, sloppy and tight, and part of you loves the way she shivers around you as you flick her clit, the way her breath gets hotter as she gets close, as she rips your hand off her thigh and shoves her breasts against it until you get it, until your fingers dig in and yank one free, squeeze it a little too hard, the way she likes, roll her nipple under your thumb and open your mouth and she comes like that, your teeth catching pink, her body giving up a long soft groan that leaps into a growl as you shoot, as your head falls back and you pant:

"Jen. Jen. Jen."

But she doesn't hear the difference.

You know she doesn't, because she kisses you, then, deep and slow the way you like it, as she rides you all the way back down.

When your call comes, you stink of her, of sex, of the sweet of your own slick and hers.

But everyone is polite about it, from grips to makeup on down. Pretends not to notice, because hey, you're a couple and it's not the first time and they're probably just grateful that she didn't give you her knot again.

The last time she did that on set, you couldn't sit down in the fucking Impala for two days and it threw the shooting schedule all to hell and Kripke had to take Gen aside, gentle, and ask her to please not do that again, thank you, to keep her alpha in its velvet cage until the script didn't require you to sit on your ass all damn day.

Even Misha raised a eyebrow at you over that one, and it takes a lot to shake his tail feathers.

And Jen?

Jen had rolled his eyes, punched you in the shoulder in Sam-and-Dean mode, and never said a word about it.

So that's what you're expecting this time. Because you know Gen was loud and your voice was maybe a little elevated but, yeah, that's not exactly new, either.

But when you get to the set-up, the no-name faux motel of the week, Jen won't look at you. Doesn't even acknowledge your presence until you hit your marks, until that split second before the cameras roll, and then.

Oh shit.

He stares at you, green furious and--

Possessive.

It's the mirror 'verse version of his face when you were fucking, the half feral grin he gave you as he pounded in and jerked you out.

But now:

It's all alpha. All want and fury and need.

It's Jen.

And then somebody shouts: "Action!"


End file.
